Ave Maria
by Ayingott
Summary: Mukuro leans forward, his long hair brushing against Byakuran's face and pooling on the man's chest. "The biggest sin here is me doing this with you." AU, 10069


**Ave Maria.**

* * *

Mukuro didn't believe in god.

Oh no. He loathed that invisible thing, the one that _ruled over them all_. Such an unfair existence. Someone who supposedly held Mukuro's life in his hand, about to crush it in pieces if needed. The Bible was the word of the said Lord. He thought of it as nothing more than a book of lies.

And yet here he was, in the room watched over by stone angels and glass eyes that reflected the storm behind the thick stone walls. He was the only soul alive in this house of God. It was just him and the presence of something that Mukuro did not believe in.

Foolish, in a way. Amusing, if looked at the right way and from the exact angle.

"So here I am. A reject of hell in front of the gates ofheaven." He sighed, mismatched eyes watching the shadows play on the high ceiling. Even the painted heaven up there seemed dark and foreign, the faces of baby angels twisted into those reminding him of demons.

…

The second time he stepped over the threshold of God was due to a heart Mukuro thought he had lost a long time ago. A death was nothing more than a death, just another drop of crimson blood on his scarred palms. And yet this time his heart felt like it held too much. Like it needed to spill over and get rid of everything that it had taken in.

The church was once again empty. The same stone angels, the same altar that held the book of carefully woven lies.

His footsteps gave the empty room some noise, something to fill in the silence made by the prayers left here by people who truly believed. To think that he would one day breathe the same air at those who feared an existence that was nothing more than a myth.

Mukuro stood before the altar for a long time, looking at the crucified wooden savior of this sinful world. Perhaps it was his imagination, but his heart did feel better. A momentary salvation made of illusions to keep his soul from falling apart. Stupid, truly.

He did not miss the forgotten bag of marshmallows that sat on the front row as he walked out of the house of lies.

…

"I never thought you were one of the lost sheep."

A sigh fell from Mukuro's lips and he stubbornly did not look away from the painted ceiling. It was a miracle that he could not explain – his being here yet again. Three times too many already. And yet, a fallen angel that came to play under the watchful eye of God brought an amused smile on his lips. "I return those words to you."

"A God must ask another one just like him for some advice, Mukuro-kun." Byakuran slid next to Mukuro on the wooden seat and kept his eyes on the savior of all. He seemed different, somewhat far away today. Or was it the fault of the church again?

Mukuro turned his head just a little, so that he could see the other's silhouette. "This is not the right house of worship for you then. Nor is it for me." He stood up, his body cold and stiff from sitting too long. "I should not have come here."

The only reply to his words is the quiet chuckle that Byakuran made. It mixed together with Mukuro's footsteps and created a new sound that made everything seem more alive. Neither of the two formed a hope of meeting again in words. But neither did they deny other meetings that are yet to come.

…

There is thunder roaring outside the stone walls once again. Mukuro is back again. Byakuran watches him with interest, an opened bag of marshmallows in his lap. There was blood dripping on the church floor, filling the cracks in the stone with the warm crimson. It was a light wound, nothing serious. Nothing worth mentioning.

"It's not like you to mess up, Mukuro-kun." The white-haired male laughs from where he is sat, lazily leafing through the holy book of lies and eating his sweets. His eyes return to the blood now and then, straying to see Mukuro's face as well.

"Like you are one to talk. A god who failed to truly become one. A half-assed angel." Mukuro growls back. His glowed hand, the one that was not bleeding, presses on the wound with even more force. "Why were you even here again?" A mission gone wrong, a choice made that he regrets.

Byakuran closes the book, hops off the altar and walks to where Mukuro sits on the floor, where the blood pools in the cracks. Slowly, so slowly. "How mean. And here I wanted to help you." The smile still plays on his lips as he crouches down, reaching out towards Mukuro's wound, "I had a feeling you would be here."

"Escapee from hell and a fallen God hanging around in a church. Laughable." Mukuro sighs. Mismatched eyes follow the fingers now dirtied with his blood, he sees every touch that Byakuran makes, feels the warmth that the other radiates. It made his skin crawl.

"Neither of us believe in that stupid thing so it does not matter that we are here. Religion and holy places only have power if you believe in the invisible God that is worshipped." Byakuran wrapped his fingers around Mukuro's arm and squeezed.

There was pleasure in pain, especially the kind that one made others feel.

…

The tip of Mukuro's trident slides across the skin on Byakuran's neck. A faint, red line of blood stays as a reminder where the blades have been. It was a kind of pleasure for both of them. An addiction that asked for more and more and chained them further down.

"Are you feeling it, Mukuro-kun?" Byakuran lies back on the church stool, eyes taking in the cherubs that Mukuro had seen as demons before. "The thrill of sinning at the home of God? The pleasure of blasphemy as sweet as the forbidden fruit." Pale fingers reach out for the painted sky on ceiling, grabbing at nothing but air.

Mukuro leans forward, his long hair brushing against Byakuran's face and pooling on the man's chest. "The biggest sin here is me doing this with you." There was seduction in his voice, low, deep and amused. The forbidden fruit had always been the best kind, after all.

…

He takes deep breaths – cold and sharp against his lungs. There is a small hope that this might all be just a dream but Mukuro knows that it was not. You cannot cheat death, nor can you raise the dead. A ghost can linger in this world for many years but even an existence like that will end one day.

"So you were a shadow of another world." Empty laughter slides along the cold stone walls of the church. This is the last time he will ever come here. The last time he allows the barbwires of fake hopes to wrap around his neck and choke him.

Byakuran sits on the altar yet again. There is a grin on his lips but no words of explanation. A transparent body of a ghost is all that is left of him. An echo of a different time and space and even world. A cruel joke of fate. A punishment made by a God that neither believed in.

"Sorry, Mukuro-kun. I didn't know this world would reject me like this." The man finally speaks, fingers tapping on the hard cover of the Bible. "All I wanted was to hold you one more time."

The words stab painfully somewhere in his chest. For Byakuran he was just a replacement of someone that had long since died, or left. He should have known that dreams were never there to stay for long. They were fragile things that broke easily when touched.

"I hate men like you. I _despise _humans who hold another just because they remind of a lost love." The air still feels like knives, the bells of heaven and screams of hell ring in his ears. Mukuro feels like he's drowning, like water pushed down on his body slowly, slowly.

Byakuran laughs - the sound pure and barely reaches Mukuro's ears. He'll be gone soon. That much was clear. "That's good. Hate me. Despise me. Haunt me only to kill me. Just don't forget me, Mukuro-kun."

The angels seem to enjoy the show. The echo of Byakuran's laugh still bounces off the walls. There is warmth on Mukuro's body that does not belong to him. A sin cannot be erased. It cannot be undone. Perhaps, that was for the best.

…

Red and orange and yellow flames engulf the wood savior behind the altar. They eat away the benches and the holy book of lies. They melt the saints made from glass and rips holes in the roof. It's like hell has taken over the holy ground.

A calming sight – the cleansing of a place that held onto memories that Mukuro wished to forget.

He watches the fire dance and destroy and create. The warmth is still there, slithering along the tips of his fingers and making his lips itch. "Ave." Mukuro whispers as he touches his lips with a glowed hand.

Only ashes remain.

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**A/N: I have no idea how to Mukuro or Byakuran. The existence of this is all Aki's fault. **


End file.
